


Before I Go

by Fumm95



Series: Morning Glory (Jace Malcom & Satele Shan) [15]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Goodbyes, I played Chapter XII and then I cried, KotFE speculation, kotfe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:30:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumm95/pseuds/Fumm95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But if by chance you're here alone/ Can I have a moment before I go?"</p><p>-Adele, "When We Were Young"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before I Go

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Adele's "When We Were Young" and the fact that I will keep fighting Bioware to make my OTP canon by making increasingly convoluted twists.
> 
> Posted on tumblr a while back but I haven't posted anything here in a long time. I swear I'm working on a long Jace/Satele fic but it's taking forever.

There is no going back. She knows that. Not after each terrible massacre, the battles that leave hundreds dead and do not even begin to make a dent in the military power of Zakuul.

She has failed them. The Republic, the Jedi Order that she has devoted her life to protect, that she has given up so much for. The men and women who followed her, and have paid the ultimate price.

She has failed them all.

The cantina is crowded and raucous, full of soldiers unwinding, remembering, mourning. Hopefully the last place where anyone would think to look for her. She has already informed the rest of the Council of her resignation as inconspicuously as possible and her personal ship is prepared for her departure to wherever the Force would take her. There is no real reason for her to delay longer, except…

He is instantly recognizable, lounging in a quiet corner of the room, silent but watching the crowds with attentive eyes. Eyes that are drawn with loss and defeat after defeat. In the quarter hour she has been there, he has scarcely moved, only scanning everyone before returning to the drink that he has nursed, but barely touched. Looking for someone, perhaps.

She tries to pretend the thought doesn’t sting.

She fails.

His gaze sweeps over the room once more and this time, she is too slow to hide her face in the expanse of her hood. Dark eyes widen in shock and recognition as he moves, rising to his feet in a movement that bespeaks of his own weariness. She considers the exit for a moment, debating whether there is time to disappear before he can make his way over, but the crowds seem to part before him and, too soon, he is sitting down across from her.

There is a pause as he takes her in, usual robes covered by a plain traveling cloak and she can see him assessing the situation. “Master Shan.” His voice is low enough to be unheard by even the nearest patrons around them, but even so, she can hear the question, the concern, that he makes no attempt to hide.

It takes all of her composure to hide the guilt that threatens to choke her. “Supreme Commander Malcom,” she manages with an incline of her head.

“I’m surprised to see you here. You Jedi don’t frequent the cantinas often, if I recall.”

For a moment, she bites her tongue, holding back words that threaten to spill out, confessions that she can’t make. “Things change.”

His brows draw into a frown, eyes darkening with pain, and she barely restrains a flinch. He has lost soldiers, friends, just as she has. “Yeah,” is all he says, his voice rough. “Yeah, they do, don’t they?”

“I didn’t mean-”

“I know.”

They sit in silence for several minutes as she studies him. This close, she can see the bags under his eyes, the stress and exhaustion that must be plaguing him. With a reduction in forces, perhaps the Republic would push for peace. He would be able to rest. To get the break that he deserves, that they both deserve.

“I should go. I need to-”

“Satele.” A hand on her wrist catches her as she moves to leave and something in his voice brings her to a stop. His eyes are intense, serious, as he watches her. “This - Zakuul - none of this is your fault.”

When she doesn’t say anything, he seems to push forward. “We’re outmatched. Outnumbered, perhaps. Maybe we can’t win this one. But it’s not your fault. You did your best.”

She swallows hard around the sudden lump in her throat, forcing a smile as his eyes scan her face. “I understand.”

For another second, she studies him, committing the familiar features, the scars and warmth and strength, to memory, an image to take with her forever. “Thank you, Jace.”

It is enough.


End file.
